


Gotta Have Faith

by Cottonstones



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones/pseuds/Cottonstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick can imagine that it's just another summer night, just like from his youth, but then he turns his head a little and he can see the barbed wire of the prison and, faintly, he can hear the continuous moaning of the zombies pawing at the fences surrounding the prison yard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gotta Have Faith

The grass is damp against Rick's back, wetting his shirt. It's almost a relief because the days are so hot, sticky, and dirty that, to lie here in the cool, damp grass, letting it soak into his sore, heated skin is nice. Next to him is Michonne, their positions mirrored, arms behind their heads, though his gun is nestled at his hip and Michonne's sword is lying next to her on the grass, within reach. Above them, the night sky twinkles in a dark expanse. Rick thinks that it still must be summer, what with the heat. Maybe August because the nights have been cooler.

For just a second, with the night sky spread out before them, stars like diamonds glittering everywhere, Rick can imagine that it's just another summer night, just like from his youth, but then he turns his head a little and he can see the barbed wire of the prison and, faintly, he can hear the continuous moaning of the walkers pawing at the fences surrounding the prison yard.

Michonne lets out a soft little sigh and Rick turns his head to the right to see her. She’s perfectly shadowed in the darkness, but with the moon, he can make out her shape, lean, rough body solid and strong next to him. She's still so strange to him, but he trusts her. There isn't much left that he can put stock into in this world, but he can always have faith in Michonne.

"Why are you staring?" she asks, not any particular emotion behind her words.

Rick blinks, unaware that he had been staring at her. He turns his attention to the heavens above them.

"Was thinkin'," Rick answers.

"Not often you can do that," she says, and her voice is softer now.

Rick wants to tell her that he's grateful for this moment, for a quiet peace, and she has to do with it. He wants to tell her a lot of things, so many, but he can't because there are so many things that don't matter anymore and, a lot of the time, words wind up being one of them. Another reason to keep Michonne's company. Her silence is comfortable.

What he winds up saying is, "I'm glad you're here."

\--

In Alexandria, Rick has a backyard. The grass is short; how, he doesn't know. It's muggy and hot and the grass is dry, prickling at his bare arms. He can't sleep, hasn't been able to since he stepped foot into the compound.

Suddenly, there are footsteps, and Rick jerks up, gun in his hand. The moon is heavy and full in the sky. Michonne steps into the white light of the moon, the police jacket that Deana had issued them wrapped around her form. She smiles at him.

"Don't shoot," she says.

Rick lowers his gun. "That's dangerous as hell."

"I had a feeling you would be here," she says. She's supposed to be on night patrol, but nothing happens here as far as Rick can tell.

Michonne lowers herself down on the ground next to Rick, the two of them bathed in moonlight. They are close enough suddenly for Michonne's knees to touch Rick's thigh. He glances at her.

"I know I said before that your face was losing a war, but I think I was wrong," she says with a smile.

Rick scrubs at his cheeks. "It'll grow back." He doesn't want to believe a clean shave will always be this easy. That means hoping it will last like this forever. Rick can't. He can't allow himself long-term hope, even now.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" she asks.

Rick shrugs. Michonne has settled in here, grown and blossomed, in a way that Rick hadn't seen before. She has hope, faith, when all of Rick's has gone to her, like if she believes it hard enough it will be enough for both of them.

"Lots of time for thinking here," Michonne says, and Rick remembers a summer night so long ago.

"Maybe too much," Rick says.

Again, he's got so much he wants to say, needs to say, but he has less words than ever before. He's spun out somewhere, almost, _almost_ , too far, but Michonne is here, reeling him back in.

"Maybe I should get back on patrol," Michonne says, one hand planted on the ground to push herself up.

Rick, with no thought, reaches out and touches her wrist, just two fingers skipping a pulse point, but Michonne settles on the ground.

"Stay," Rick says, and Michonne nods, smiles again. Rick licks at his lips, looks up at the moon.

"I'm glad you're here," he tells her.


End file.
